“No, the old bat’s still here, snooping around. Cyril, that’s a friend of mum’s, he says that mum stole that scarf when that Agatha female dropped it.”
“What’s this about a scarf?”
“Mum was strangled with it. On the beach. Middle of the night.”
“Blimey!”
“So we’re all stuck here in this crap hotel while the police piss about.”
“Have you spoken to this Raisin woman?”
“What’s the point? She has this fellow with her. He socked me, just like that.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Spite. Posh chap.”
“Say it wasn’t this Agatha woman,” said Harry. “Did your mum have any enemies?”
“Not a one. Why are you asking all these questions?”
“Sorry. But I mean, a murder… Tell you what, you two need cheering up and the food here’s awful. What say I take you to an Indian for lunch?”
“Could do with a pint and a vindaloo,” said Wayne.
“That would be great.” Chelsea batted her eyelashes at Harry.
“I’ll pick you up in the reception at twelve-thirty,” said Harry. “See ya.”
He strolled off, leaving his greasy breakfast on their table.
Later that morning, Patrick tracked down the dog walker, George Bonford. George invited Patrick into his house on the waterfront and offered him coffee. Spray rattled against the front windows of his living room.
“Aren’t you worried about getting washed away?” asked Patrick.
“Yes. We’ve had residents’ meetings at the town hall to complain, but they won’t do anything.” George was an elderly man with a good shock of white hair above his wrinkled face. “Fact is, this used to be such a lovely place. Quiet, genteel. Then they began building more and more houses and moving the welfare cases in. There used to be a pretty cafe on the front. Now it’s an amusement arcade. The good old pubs have gone and now they’re full of lap dancers and drugs. Lots of drugs and not enough police to cope with them. Have you seen the youth of this place? They go around like zombies.”
“Tell me how you spotted the dead woman?” asked Patrick.
“My dog, Queenie, began to bark like she wanted to go out. She’s old now, like me, and I know what it is to have a weak bladder. Anyway, I don’t sleep that much these days. I put Queenie on her leash and took her out to do her business. I remember thinking I was lucky the tide was out. One of these days I’m going to be washed away. Queen stopped to pee and I don’t know why, but I looked over the wall and down to the beach. That’s when I saw her.”
“Did you see or hear anyone else?”
“I was too shocked to take much notice of anything else. I mean, I could see her lying there, not moving, but I couldn’t make out that she’d been strangled. For all I knew, she could have collapsed with a heart attack. I went straight home and called an ambulance. I went out again when I saw the ambulance arriving. Then men went down to her. One took out his phone. The next thing I knew, the police had arrived as well.”
“What time was this?”
“Around about one in the morning. If anyone else had been down on the beach, I’d have heard them. It was quiet and anyone walking on that shingle would have made a noise.”
Agatha longed for the days when American filter coffee had been served in cafes. Now it was all espresso. She was seated with Cyril in the Friendly Nook, a cafe that seemed anything but friendly. Two pasty-faced youths were openly smoking pot, ignoring the glares from a table of three middle-aged women.
Cyril had jumped at the idea of accompanying Agatha for a coffee. His wife had been nowhere in sight. Agatha wished he would take off his ridiculous yachting cap. Cyril was having to ignore jeers from the pot-smoking youths of “Where did you park yer boat?”
Agatha sighed and took out her phone and called the police station. “There are two young men openly smoking pot in the Friendly Nook cafe,” she said. “Yes, I know it’s not a major crime, but they are upsetting the customers.”
The youths saw her phoning, muttered something, and got up and left hurriedly.
“I’ll bet you the police don’t even bother to come,” said Agatha. “But at least that’s got rid of them.”
To Agatha’s relief, Cyril took off his ridiculous hat and placed it on a chair next to him.
“Where’s your friend, Mr. Lacey?” asked Cyril.
“He had business to attend to,” said Agatha curtly.
“I’m glad I’ve got you all to myself,” said Cyril. He stroked his little moustache. “Fact is, Dawn hasn’t much time for me these days.”
“Perhaps the murder has upset her.”
“No, she hated poor Geraldine and made no bones about it. ‘I’ll kill you one day.’ That’s what she used to shout.”
Agatha’s eyes widened. “You don’t think your wife …?”
“No, Dawn’s all mouth and no action.”
“Did you know that Mrs. Jankers’s second husband is now out of prison?”
Cyril looked alarmed. “I hope he doesn’t come near here. That man frightened me to death. He even accused me of having an affair with Geraldine.”
“How awful,” said Agatha, wondering whether it might have been true. “The police never recovered the jewels that Charlie Black stole. Do you think Mrs. Jankers knew where they were hidden?”
“No, definitely not. She would have told me. You know something? I don’t think you should worry any more about this murder. Now that Fred has told the police that Geraldine stole your scarf, you’re free to go. I mean, what can you do that the police can’t?”
“There is a very small police force here and they don’t seem to have turned it over to some larger force. It is my job, after all.”
“Such an awful job for such a pretty woman,” said Cyril almost automatically, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
Harry was glad he had had the foresight to draw out plenty of cash, not wanting to flash his credit cards.
Having firmly established that he was paying for the meal, Wayne and Chelsea ordered a great deal of food and pints of beer to wash it down.
They were so intent on eating that he couldn’t get much conversation out of them, but when Wayne finally burped and leaned back in his chair, Harry said, “Nice to get away from that awful hotel.”
Wayne’s eyes narrowed as if suspecting Harry might be ‘posh.’ “Used to better, are you?” he jeered.
“We’re all used to better,” said Harry quickly. He noticed Chelsea was wearing a sparkling necklace. “That’s a pretty necklace,” he said.
“Not real diamonds.” Chelsea fingered the necklace. “Wayne gave to it me for our first wedding anniversary.”
At that moment, a ray of sunshine shot through the dusty brown curtains at the windows of the restaurant and sparked fire from the necklace.
“It looks real,” said Harry. “Mind if I have a look?”
“Go ahead.” Chelsea raised her skinny arms to unclasp the necklace. Wayne seized one of her arms and growled, “Leave it.” Then to Harry, “Wot you so interested in necklaces and things for? You a poofter?”
Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He began to talk about football and Wayne gradually began to relax, although he seemed to think the whole of the English team was made up of “wankers.”
Deciding that the way to get any information about the murder was to talk about anything else and let Wayne perhaps get slip a few interesting facts, Harry amiably discussed football players, so that by the time they left the restaurant, Wayne and Chelsea appeared to consider themselves his close friends.
Wayne and Chelsea went off for a walk and Harry headed back to the hotel. Agatha was just walking through reception on the way out. Seeing that the girl at the desk wasn’t paying any attention and that apart from himself and Agatha the reception area was deserted, he muttered quickly, “Got something interesting.”
“Car park in five minutes,” whispered Agatha. “Blue Ford Escort.”
